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Sons of Gildor Epilogue
(Read the Sons of Gildor Battle first if you haven't) Seven Guide Us It was done. Many had fought, thousands had fallen, and one had ascended. In the aftermath of the Battle of the Sons of Gildor, there was no denying the power of the new King. Darshia Whitefang, descendant of Arik and true heir to the throne, had claimed his city. Now, all that was left was to clean up the mess. Though the battle had been momentous, it had also been honorable. Neither Tigahn nor Darshia had burned or bashed their way to the throne save for a few gates. Though many had died, the city itself was no worse for wear; the wounded could easily find aid, the dead were quickly buried with ceremony. Fumnites, being led by the mysterious Solomon North, led the restoration efforts. Darkmoon stood watch to prevent looting or other forms of crime in the wake of war, but the ever honorable Gildorians did little of the sort. They banded together to restore their city. ……… Nex and Lidiya approached the humble abode together. The pair was cloaked in shadowed garb as to not betray their identity. Followers of Lidiya stayed close behind, ready for any treachery that may unfold. An anonymous tip had requested their presence here. The note had detailed things about Lidiya’s past that no one else could know, and the stranger offered wisdom as to her quest. It was too good to ignore, even if it was a trap. As they neared the door a large, hulking man opened the oaken barrier with a smile. “Please,” he said, “do come in.” “Will you require us to leave our weapons at the door?” Nex said. Though Lidiya felt him curt, it was a necessary precaution to ask. “Whatever makes you feel safer.” He was a giant of a man. His shoulders were broad and his garb gave the impression of a well-traveled man. His peppered hair was pulled back into a knot and his beard was adorned with seven braids. Truly, he was conspicuous in any crowd. “We’ll keep them,” Lidiya said, motioning for Nex to follow. As they entered the home, which was barely big enough for the man to stand in, Lidiya noticed the smell of brewing stew and the glow of the hearth. Trinkets of travels littered the home and it was clear that this stranger was, though clean, not a terribly organized man. “Stew will be ready in a few minutes,” he said, motioning for them to sit at the table. Lidiya shook her head. “We will stand for now. Pray, if you are the man the note claims you to be, than what is this knowledge you have for us?” “In a moment,” he said. “Nex, I know you to be a man of strong drink. Care to sample?” He said, gesturing behind Belain. Lidiya followed the finger to see rows of bottles lining the shelves. She gave Nex a look of concern; his stoic demeanor put her at ease. “Will you give us a name, at least?” Lidiya asked. “Solomon. Solomon North,” he replied, moving closer to the pair. “And I must say, it is… good to see you. Very, very good to see you.” “I don’t trust this one, Lidiya,” Nex said, his fingers trembling over the hilt of his sword. “Normally I would agree with you, but,” she paused, her eyes beginning to see something in Solomon that seemed eerily familiar. “I trust him.” “Allow me to make you more at ease,” Solomon said. He unbuckled his hefty sword belt and coiled it on the table, his sheathed weapon now far from his reach. His mace and shield, cornerstones of his supposed toils, were placed near the doorway. “Nex,” he said, “before we go any further, I feel it is necessary for me to do this.” He approached slowly, Nex still wary of attack. Then, Solomon took a knee and bowed before the swordsman. “Thank you,” he said, his face lowered to the floor. “You were Lidiya’s shield when no one else could be. You have given so much of yourself to keep her safe, and for that, I am forever grateful.” Lidiya looked to Nex, her confusion mirrored in his face. She could not recall the last time someone had so sincerely thanked him for his service, other than herself. It showed. Behind those hardened eyes something was breaking. She felt a softness from him. She put her hand on his arm, a reassurance of her faith in him. “Well, I uh, I did what I had to do,” Nex stuttered. “You flatter me with unnecessary praise.” “You did far beyond that,” Solomon said as he rose. “This is not flattery. Lidiya may never have gotten as far as she did without you.” He put his hand on Nex’s shoulder. “Never forget that.” “It’s true,” Lidiya said, feeling something in her chest urging her to speak. “And I’m sorry if I don’t tell you enough. I have been burdened with being a leader to so many, their foundation of faith. But do you know who my rock is?” She turned to him, her crystal eyes begging him to understand her sincerity. “It’s you, Nex.” There was silence. He tried to shy away from the praise but Lidiya held him firm. For once, he had nothing to say. Lidiya had grown fond of his witty comebacks or rebuttals of praise… but just this one time, she preferred the silence of his acceptance. Nex had never been an outwardly emotional man, but she could feel the love he felt. His eyes betrayed all secrets. “Solomon,” Lidiya said, “you say you are a faithful of the Seven?” “I am indeed,” he said, turning his attention to her. “And I bring knowledge that will help you on your quest. For you see, I want the Godswalk to be completed just the same as you do.” “What is it that you know?” she asked. His face was calm, and despite the scars on his nose and the raggedness of his form, there was something… beautiful about him. “You’ve been alone for so long,” he said. He stared into the fire of the hearth, his face alight with tempered memory. “Ever since you came to Ura, you have been alone. You have had Nex, you have had your followers, it is true. But none of them could truly appreciate your struggle.” Lidiya felt her insides twist. She had first cried for the soul of the original Lidiya, the girl she had supplanted to take this mortal form. “I want you to know,” he said. “That the girl you sent to Jerua is happy.” “What?” Lidiya fumbled. “Lidiya Winya, that was her name. And now she rests in the holy city above. She is not angry, nor sad, but rather, overjoyed at what you have accomplished.” Lidiya felt a surge of emotion press against her chest. “How do you know this?” “Because I spoke with her not so long ago. She wishes you well and hopes to see you in person one day.” Lidiya looked to Nex for comfort. He seemed as lost as she was. Something was telling her to cry. She couldn’t. He was just a stranger, yet… it couldn’t be, could it? “Unquala,” he said. “It’s okay to cry.” He extended his hand for hers. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” She reached out, timid but also sure, and grabbed his fingers. A flood of memory blanketed her mind. Visions of epochs past at the dawn of all things. The cities of Vanessi, the warmth of her kin and the sorrows of war… and a memory from before the creation of Ura. There, on the steps of a Great Hall were hewn the bodies of countless Vanessi. Friends. Family. Those she had loved in another life. And try as she may, she could not bring them back. One was there to comfort her, to hold her as she wept for the fallen and give her words of courage. And there, as her eyes cleared and she returned to the world of mortals, she saw a face she had not seen in what felt like a lifetime. The same face she had seen on those steps and countless times thereafter. “It’s good to see you, sister,” Solomon said. “Rorn,” she hummed. She collapsed into his arms, her tears flowing more freely than they ever had before. No crimson marred her eyes, for these were not the tears of sorrow she knew so well. These were tears of joy. She sobbed in the warmth of her brother, his arms cradling her smaller form. He pressed his old face into her hair and cried too. Lidiya felt the heaving sobs of his chest and felt safe. This was real. This was home. ……… The Hall of Lords was quiet now, more so than it had been since the attack. He who suffered the silence greatest now sat in a cell in the well-guarded dungeon. Tigahn Dailar, his forces routed and his claim to the throne cast to the wind, had accepted his fate. And yet, he found little sleep. His official hearing had been postponed until the city could be properly repaired. There was no date given. “Tigahn,” came a familiar voice from across the hall. Tigahn raised his haggard eyes to see Darshia and his guards in tow. The man who had defeated him. “Hail, my King,” Tigahn said, not as bitter as he felt he deserved. “Restoration efforts are soon ending. After my coronation, you will be given a fair trial.” Tigahn chewed this over. “Regardless of my verdict,” he said. “What of my family? I already know my son Aygahn is…” he grimaced to stem the flow of tears. “Will they pay for the sins of their father?” “Your family will be safe, Tigahn, though I do not know what I will do with your holdings.” “Please,” he said, “for the good of Gildor, keep the Dailars in power in Highkeep. Only we know best how to govern that city and keep Gildor safe.” “That is not for you to decide anymore.” Tigahn bit his tongue. There was no use in arguing this. “What of Nashuss?” Darshia paused at the question. “Dead.” “By your hand?” “By his own.” Tigahn wrung his hands. A sorry way to go. He didn’t want to admit it, but if he had been where Darshia stood now, he would have condemned Nashuss’ sons to celibacy and military careers… if not death. He was a hypocrite in this aspect and he knew it, but he could do whatever it took to keep his family safe. At least he had not abandoned them like Nashuss had. “The coronation will be this Friday,” Darshia said. “After which you will be tried. I promise nothing other than that I will hear all you have to say and let the Seven guide my actions.” “May Fumna find me pure, may Húrin find me brave,” Tigahn said, humming the line of an old sailor shanty. “Until then, Tigahn,” Darshia said, turning to leave. “My King, if I may give one piece of advice?” “Speak, then.” Tigahn swallowed. “These advisors, Dukes, vassals to the crown, they will see you as an opportunity to get what they want. Men are not so noble as Elves. Just remember why you took the throne: not for gold, not for glory, not for the rich alone. You took it for the people. Rule for the people.” Darshia nodded. Despite their differences, both had a great love for their nation. Tigahn, now more than ever before, knew this to be true of his rival. At least with that, Tigahn could finally find some sleep. ……… The sun was bright on the day of the coronation. Though this had been a struggle for Gildor, men from all corners of Lancerus had come to see the new King of Leva Adium: Larkens, Odeniens, Arnishmen, and even Elves had come to pay their respects. The ceremony was held on the steps of the Sept of Matthias. Darshia, being a holy man, wanted the Seven to witness his ascension as best they could. The people also felt most at ease in the shadow of the Sept where all men were equal in the eyes of the Gods. To the Whitefang’s right was his current second in command, Ser Bradney of the Wolfknights. To his left stood Húleth, a High Elf of great rapport with the Whitefang line. Her deeds had seen giants fall in the past, one recent example being Frogock the Rock. Darshia walked to the podium before the people and waved his hands. They cheered at the sight of their king, the man who promised peace. “My people,” he said, his face tired but his eyes alight with fervor. “This marks the beginning of something grand. We brave few are witnessing the last throes of the Fourth Age, for it said in the Holy Sojourn that a Son of Gildor will guide the people in the Seven’s Crusade and bring about a new Age. The Godswalk is here, and we are its shepherds. Let us face these challenges together.” A priest of the Sept appeared from behind Darshia, a crown of Godsteel in his hand: High Priest Ackerley. The crowd fell silent. The priest spoke. “When Seven and Five begat One and Eight, it was Their will that we become greater than the evil we were wrought from. The Seven believe in us, and we must believe in them. Darshia Whitefang, you have been chosen by Gods and men to lead us into an uncertain future. Will you carry this mantle until you are no longer able?” “I shall.” Darshia said, his voice filled with certainty. “Then kneel.” Darshia knelt before the priest, his weight bared by the sword Maerwynn afore his armored form. “By Life and Death, Order and Chaos, Mercy and Judgment, and the Knowledge to seek them, I, High Priest Ackerley, do name you King of Leva Adium, ruler of Gildor, and the Keeper of the Northern Wall of Lancerus. Rise!” As the crown was placed upon his head and he rose to meet the son, the crowd cheered with such ferocity as to shake the city itself. It seemed the applause would continue forever. It did not. As the people’s hands fell to their sides, a look of confusion ebbed into their expressions. Darshia realized a strain of tension and turned to his aids. They directed him to an intruder in their midst. Behind the coronation party was erected a temporary throne. There upon the makeshift cathedra where Darshia was to sit was a being of unknown powers. It was clapping for Darshia. At its feet, three men gurgled their death rattles. “Well done, Darshia,” it said with androgynous beauty, “Or, excuse me, King Darshia. Forgive my manners, it’s been some hundred years since last I spoke with human royalty. I tend to forget your mannerisms.” “An Elf?” Ser Bradney said, pulling his blade to protect his new king. “No,” Darshia said, the color draining from his face. “That is no Elf.” The intruder stood and brushed off his immaculate coat, as if to flaunt the fabric. Wings of darkened blue rose from behind the creature’s form, as if to appear from thin air. Four in total they framed his visage and glowed with gentle light. “Seven save us,” Húleth said, her knees weak. “Stand your ground, creature!” Bradney roared. “Who, me?” The stranger said with a delicate flourish to his voice, “I mean only to congratulate his majesty in returning the throne to its rightful owner.” He took a step. Bradney’s men took one as well. “And may I say,” the stranger resumed, “how rude of you to call me ‘creature’. My name is Avv’ra.” “Bradney,” Darshia said, “put your weapons down.” Avv’ra took another step. The gathered crowd of citizens had fallen silent. They looked on in stunned apprehension of what was to come. “Archers!” Bradney roared. “On my mark!” Archers, their bows pulled taut, trained their sights on Avv’ra. “Release!” Thirty arrows soared through broken air towards Avv’ra. His wings cupped his beautiful form and turned the arrows to splinters. Not even his feathers seemed phased. “Seven take you!” Bradney said as he and his men charged. “Bradney, no!” Darshia cried. As the Wolfknight and his brave company fell upon their new enemy, they found their blades as useless as sticks against the mountain. Avv’ra twisted and turned with magnificent precision. Without even drawing his sword, Avv’ra managed to kill twelve men in so little as a few breaths. By the third snapped neck, the crowd had erupted into panic. Darshia then rose to meet Avv’ra, his crown replaced with fury and his cloak thrown bare to reveal his war-torn armor. Avv’ra now pulled his blade and blocked the flurry of strikes from the young King. Though Darshia had fought longer than most men had lived, he was a child against Avv’ra. The blade named Maerwynn seemed slow, dull and clumsy before Avv’ra’s superior skill. Darshia was thrown from the mount and crashed into a pillar. He fought to stay conscious. Adventurers had now managed to make their way to the scene of battle. Spears and shields of Darkmoon rose to threaten Avv’ra while Vix prepared a charge. “Oh don’t bother,” Avv’ra said, amused at the ‘bravery’ of these humans. “If I wanted him dead he would be dead. I only came to remind you, all of you, who really rules these realms.” “And what are you, then?” Darshia wheezed, his back unable to move. “A god,” Avv’ra said with a quaint smile. “Though your kind has come to call me something else. What was it now? Come on, I know you know.” “Forsaken…” “Yes! Very good, my liege. I am Avv’ra the Forsaken, and I am glad you had this audience with me.” “Are you working with the Cult of the Five?” “Does it matter? All that you need to know, your kingliness, is this; should you go into Rhivic, your precious Godswalk will end before it even truly begins.” Avv’ra turned to face the broken crowd. His eyes found Lidiya and Solomon both. He smiled wickedly. “I do believe that is enough killing for me today. I have business elsewhere and I would rather not be covered in mortal blood for it. If you have need of me, King Darshia, scrawl my name in a wraith gate. The way will always be open. Seven blessings.” He vanished in a plume of fire. Left behind was a fragment of vellum with the word, “Avv’ra” written on its face. ……… Húleth had not even been touched by the Forsaken. She was dead now. Being an Elf, her body was vulnerable to the dark magic of Avv’ra’s presence. Her skin was like ash and her eyes were bleeding even in death. The Elves had quickly withdrawn after Avv'ra's exodus from the scene. None knew what their plans now were. Many others were also dead, some in more gruesome ways than a single blade cut could be thought to accomplish. The King, however, had survived his first ordeal as the new leader, even if rather wounded. If this was to be his life, he would face it as a proper Gildorian should; head on. He now sat upon his proper throne within the Citadel. Though his wounds would have killed most men, Darshia was above them physically. Even now, through wincing pain, he did his duty. “Send them in,” Darshia said. Through the archway of the Throne Room came three figures; a giant of man clad in armor, a young girl with blood-stained eyes, and the Luckiest Sword Alive. Solomon, Lidiya and Nex Belain now stood before the King. “I believe we have things we need to discuss,” Darshia said. “If my advisors are to be believed, than two of you are Gods.” He looked to Nex. “And one a drunken ally.” “Not drunk today, your highness,” Nex said. “You deserve at least that much.” Darshia motioned for his assistant and whispered something in his ear. Not a minute later a platter was brought forth bearing wine and goblets. Though Solomon and Lidiya refused, Nex was not so noble as to refuse such generosity. "Well," Nex said, preparing a drink, "it would be rude to say no..." “Now,” Darshia said. “How can I be sure that you are who you say you are?” Lidiya looked to Solomon. He put his hand on her shoulder as if to say, “allow me,” and walked forward. “My liege,” Solomon said. “In my travels I have come across such knowledge that few men of this world could know. Coupled with my divine roots, I am a very learned man.” “And what things do you know?” “I know that you have 13 scars on your back, one for each of your siblings.” Darshia said nothing. For a long while. “And you?” He said, motioning towards Lidiya. “Are you who the stories claim you to be?” “You know I am, my liege. Any demonstration I provide requires the use of the fallen. I only make use of such techniques when there is no other way.” “Explain, if you would.” “Magic is fueled by blood, though being connected with the dead allows me to use the blood of the fallen for my magic, but I loathe to do such things. It hurts them, and I despise death.” “The Goddess of Death… hates death?” “More than anyone else in the entire universe, which is why only I can be Her.” Darshia smiled. If his time with the Elves had taught him anything, it was this; what she had just said was as close to the truth as one could get. “Then there is no further need for idle chatter. Come, to the War Room. The Crusades are about to begin.” Category:World Lore